


And I See You

by thegirlcourageous



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 01:34:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18982507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlcourageous/pseuds/thegirlcourageous
Summary: Grantaire spends too much time thinking about and staring at a certain blond in class. And as fate would have it, Enjolras is looking back.





	And I See You

The scratch of the pen in his notebook could barely be heard over the impassioned and really rather loud shouting in the lecture hall. Grantaire glanced up from the page, his eyes immediately landing on the source of the noise. From his location near the back of the room Grantaire couldn’t actually see his face, just a massive head of curls bouncing furiously as a response to the man’s jerky movements. But he didn’t need to.

 

Grantaire already knew the man’s eyes would be ablaze, the fires of whatever injustice he was championing at that moment stoked every time anyone so much as dared to breath a word of ignorance in his general direction. Now, it wasn’t that Grantaire didn’t understand where the other man was coming from, as from his experience, people had a tendency to be morons. It was just that he personally didn’t believe in any of it. His own worldview tended to be just a bit less naïve, and a whole lot more realistic. With just a hint of cynicism.

 

Yet there was something about the man that drew Grantaire to him. Like a moth to a flame, he had been left speechless the moment his eyes had landed on the blond. His golden curly hair looked like a crown, framing his face just so, not hiding any of the features. He was beautiful, Grantaire had thought. And not just in the 'you have a nice face' sort of way but more in a 'you are a golden god, you are Apollo' playing on repeat in his brain kind of way.

 

His fingers itched to draw his likeness on every scrap of paper he came across. He hadn’t actually done that because ridiculous pining aside, that would be sort of creepy. And Grantaire didn’t do creepy. Well, not most of the time at least. Plus, with his track record, he’d just end up losing one of the drawings and then it would miraculously find its way to Apollo himself. Okay, maybe he watched too much TV but obviously, it could happen. There wasn’t like a hundred percent probability of it happening but if there was even a remote chance that the guy could get ahold of any drawing he’d made, there was no chance in hell that he would even draw it in the first place.

 

And wouldn’t that be the most awkward thing? Having one’s extremely attractive crush find out that you liked them? Grantaire wasn’t unaccustomed to rejection but he found that he didn’t want to risk it. Not with Enjolras. It wasn’t even that Grantaire was unattractive; he just seriously doubted he would ever attract someone like Enjolras.

 

Grantaire’s gaze drifted over to Enjolras, who, impressively enough, was still talking. He honestly wasn’t sure how the guy managed to breathe because there were hardly any pauses in his tirades.

 

It always felt awkward to refer to him as Enjolras, even if that was his name. They’d never been properly introduced but then, he hadn’t even needed to resort to stalking the guy on Facebook or something equally creepy. No, all he’d needed to figure out his name was listen in class as approximately ten minutes into the first lecture, the guy had indignantly raised his hand, and how one even did that was beyond Grantaire, waited for the lecturer to acknowledge him, giving up his own name – Enjolras – when prompted, before his words cut through the air like a knife. A very sharp knife, one that cut to the bone.

 

The room had gone very silent during his first outburst, no one daring to move an inch, some students even looking around like they weren’t sure they were actually allowed to breathe.

 

Even Grantaire had just stared at him. An avenging angel, that’s what he looked like. Beautiful but in a terrifying sort of way.

 

The funny thing was that it was Enjolras’ words, much more so than his face, that had transfixed him. The way he could string together words in such a way that even the most avid skeptic couldn’t help but stare and pledge his eternal allegiance. Because that was exactly how Grantaire felt. Like he would follow him anywhere, if he’d only ask. He’d let him lead the way, let his passion light the path they travelled on, and he’d be content to just stay on the sideline, completely in awe of the sun, of Enjolras. Yet, it felt as if he was only destined watch this man from afar. Watch and study but never approach.

 

So no, it wasn’t weird that he knew the guy’s name. Because honestly, he was pretty sure everyone in that class knew his name. It was supremely difficult not to. Grantaire would applaud anyone who had succeeded with the particular feat of not knowing the name of the person who on an almost daily basis would argue and derail the lecture.

 

Even if his opinions were sort of bullshit. Grantaire could overlook that; he could totally be the bigger person. Well, maybe not. He’d probably argue with him a lot, challenge him on everything and anything, trying desperately to get under the guy’s skin, the usual really. It’d probably end up being a lot like when children were accused of pulling the pigtails of their crush on the playground. But it’d be at university and not the playground. And instead of being like six years old, he’d be an adult. Which really put a damper on things. Because, maybe Grantaire wasn’t the most mature or funniest or greatest or whatever, but at least he knew not to act like a child.

 

It wasn’t even that he was infatuated with him. Or maybe that was the thing but he’d rather live in denial. It was safer that way. It was easier to quietly admire the boldness of the golden man at the front of the room from afar, jotting down witty responses and biting critique than it was to voice them. Burying feelings had always worked for him before.

 

He only prayed it would work this time too.

 

\--- 

 

Enjolras entered the lecture hall with seconds to spare. Thankfully, the teacher hadn’t arrived, so he came to a halt at the top of the stairs. Almost instinctively his eyes scanned the rows of students, searching until they landed on a messy head of black hair. He should feel embarrassed about the staring, but he could never muster quite enough resolve to actually stop. He’d envisioned on more than one occasion what the tangled locks might feel like, if they’d be soft. Which in itself was highly inappropriate because he didn’t know the guy. Fantasizing about some unknown guy’s hair and smile and what his voice might sound like, well, it felt intrusive and wrong. The guilty feelings that were threatening to weigh him down, however, were nothing when compared to the most painful thing about the whole ordeal. Which was that he’d never know. He’d never have the chance to know any of it because the guy hated him. He could tell. Enjolras could always tell.

 

Combeferre had initially insisted that he couldn’t possibly know, had even tried to persuade him using the type of logical arguments that Enjolras usually had no reason to second guess. Combeferre had always made sense before.

 

Yet…there was something about the guy’s eyes that Enjolras couldn’t shake. Whenever their eyes met, which really wasn’t very often, the look of loathing almost made him flinch. He didn’t know exactly what he’d done to merit such a look from someone he had never even spoken too. However, he reasoned that the guy might just hate him because he kept on disturbing class. Enjolras had always had certain…difficulties keeping his head down, his mouth shut. The words, often angry and belligerent, seemed to roll off his tongue without needing any prompting. Which really should be more worrying, but he just couldn’t bother caring at this point. This was his life. He was used to it.

 

And what was really the point of trying to tamp down his indignation? So what if people didn’t like him? He had no answers; he’d never had them to be frank. Enjolras descended the stairs of the lecture hall, ignoring the faint twinge in his chest.

 

Combeferre’s tall, broad frame was already seated in the first row. From the looks of it, he’d attempted to fold his legs at an angle where they could sort of fit under the seat but that was only if he pretended to be a contortionist. On his right sat Courfeyrac, a maniacal grin overtaking his face as he spotted Enjolras. He looked pointedly at Enjolras, wiggling his eyebrows before his eyes travelled further up, his grin becoming impossibly wider. He didn’t even need to glance up to know what had caught the other’s attention. If anything, Enjolras was trying to limit the staring time allowed during one lecture. And he’d already looked once.

 

Enjolras had always known telling Courfeyrac of his crush on the still nameless guy would be a mistake. It pained Enjolras to refer to him as nameless  guy but he couldn’t for his life find a way to figure it out, short of actually asking the guy in question which wasn’t an option, and there was no one else to ask because he always sat alone and never raised his hand.

 

Combeferre had figured it out by himself, though he had chosen to not even mention it, which Enjolras was eternally grateful for. And that was really the principal difference between Enjolras’ two best friends: one was the epitome of consideration whereas the other couldn’t resist meddling; usually with the added ‘fun’ of making everything twenty times worse. Every time.

 

He slid into the empty seat next to Combeferre, hoping that Courfeyrac would take the hint and leave him and the awkward crush he had alone to mope in a corner. No such luck.

 

He felt the tap of finger against his forearm. Sighing, Enjolras turned towards him, not even a little surprised to find that Courfeyrac was essentially sprawled all over Combeferre’s lap. The grin had yet to fade from his friend’s face. He almost glowed with excitement.

 

Courfeyrac lifted his hand, turning it around before opening it, palm facing upwards. In his hand was a piece of paper, a flashcard by the looks of it. The triumphant look on his face was hard to miss. It was the same look that also tended to spark irrational irritation in Enjolras.

 

“Here, got you a present.”

 

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, silently questioning what the hell he was on about? And why did he think Enjolras wanted a piece of paper? When Courfeyrac made no move to answer, Enjolras just sighed again. More days than not, he found himself asking why he even bothered staying friends with such a moron.

 

Shaking his head, he reached out his fingers, gingerly gripping the folded piece of paper before pulling away. Enjolras stared at it for a second before unfolding it, revealing…a name.

 

Huh.

 

“Grantaire?” he asked, confusion bleeding into his voice, at the same time that Courfeyrac huffed in annoyance.

 

“That’s literally the least excited reaction I’ve ever seen,” Courfeyrac said, pouting. Combeferre pushed at the heavy lump in his lap, adding in a low voice as Courfeyrac extracted himself and sat up, “I told you. Pay up.” He held out his hand.

 

Courfeyrac grumbled but dutifully reached down and took his wallet out of his bag, pulling out a somewhat crumpled ten-dollar bill. He gave it a long, wistful look before pressing it into Combeferre’s hovering hand.

 

“Happy?” He all but growled at Combeferre.

 

“Ecstatic.”

 

Courfeyrac eyed him for another moment, the beginnings of a frown on his face, before sliding his eyes over to Enjolras, who during the exchange had simply sat there, mouth slightly parted. The frown deepened.

 

“Why aren’t you happy about this? Are you a robot? Does the robot boy not know how to properly express his appreciation, his gratitude?” His fingers were flexing, and it was looking more and more like he wanted to strangle Enjolras.

 

“What did I do? And seriously, I thought I told you the robot jokes weren’t funny.”

 

“You have,” Combeferre confirmed, not bothering to look up from where he had already begun scribbling his pre-lecture notes, “Just last week you said, and I quote, ‘Courfeyrac, I’m warning you. Stop it.’ And then you proceeded to chase him around the fountain.”

 

Courfeyrac smiled but shushed them all the same, flapping a hand in their general direction, “The time for robot talk is not right now and seriously, Enjolras, I’m aware that you’re somewhat dense when it comes to the matters of the heart but how are you not bouncing off the walls? I got you his name.”

 

Enjolras froze, a vibrant red blush almost exploding over his face. Even his ears were heating up. He felt his face go slack and for a moment, the sensation of falling seemed to grip him. Which was absurd because he was sitting down.

 

Courfeyrac had to stifle a giggle, and Combeferre simply glanced at Enjolras, taking in his flaming cheeks, the panicked look in his eyes, the white knuckles as he held onto his bag, and said, “I think you broke Enjolras.” At that, Courfeyrac couldn’t keep from laughing, letting out an undignified snort. Even Combeferre smiled.

 

Before his friends could further embarrass him, teasing him about the over the top reaction, the professor stepped into the hall. Enjolras had never been happier in his life for a lecture to begin.

 

And if he was too preoccupied with the fact that he now knew the mysterious guy’s name to argue with the teacher and the other students, well, nobody really needed to know that.

 

He glanced at the paper on his desk one more time, a smile slowly grazing his features.

 

Grantaire.

 

\--- 

 

There was something off about Apollo, Grantaire could tell. He couldn’t have spent the majority of the term watching him in silence and not pick up on that up.

 

For starters, he hadn’t angrily cut anyone off today, loudly spouting his rhetoric about freedom and equality and whatnot. Instead, he’d spent the lecture smiling at what looked like a piece of paper. Though it was kind of hard to tell from the angle at that Grantaire was sitting. Which in itself was highly suspicious. Enjolras had never been distracted during class before. What the hell was written on that paper?

 

That coupled with the intense blushing he’d witnessed earlier, seriously, even Enjolras’ ears had burned, could only really mean one thing: Apollo had a crush. Well, he could be wrong obviously, but all the signs pointed to it. At least if he squinted at it. Something he was apparently super willing to do.

 

It was incredibly unlikely that his affection would be directed at Grantaire but a guy could dream, right? Right, he told himself, nodding. Grantaire tried out what he imagined a winning smile would look like but it mostly it felt like he was trying to force something that wasn’t there. The smile slipped off his face.

 

He had desperately been trying to avoid the ball of anxiety that had been steadily growing stronger during the lecture, but it was becoming more difficult to ignore by the second.

 

Who was he kidding? People like Enjolras’ barely ever even glanced in his direction, let alone declared their undying love. He really needed to get a grip on the situation before it escalated even more. Before every single page in his notebook was filled with rebuttals to Enjolras’ arguments. Before he gave even more of himself away to a guy he’d never actually spoken to.

 

The familiar ache in his chest had returned. Grantaire closed his eyes, and held his breath as he counted to five. Fuck. He repeated the action two, three, four times. He had a to get a hold of himself. Having a panic attack in the middle of a lecture was so not the way he wanted to be remembered.

 

A noise startled him, and Grantaire opened his eyes and stared blankly at the figure beside him. A girl was standing just to his right and seemed to be waiting for him to answer but he hadn’t actually heard the question, so he just continued to stare at her. Silently. But instead of becoming frustrated with his lack of a reaction, she smiled and asked brightly, “Rough night?”

 

Grantaire blinked, “Huh?”

 

The girl’s smile widened, “Feeling ambushed right about now?” She stuck out her hand, “My name is Cosette.”

 

“Grantaire,” he replied automatically, taking her hand.

 

“It’s nice to finally meet you. We always end up sitting close to each other and I’ve honestly been meaning to say hello.” Her smile seemed genuine enough to Grantaire, but instead of saying something, anything, he just stared at her, dumfounded. What exactly was going on? Since when did nice people randomly strike up conversations with him of their own free will?

 

“Not much for conversation then?” Cosette inquired, “That’s okay. I’ve been told I talk enough for two people. Also, something about how I’m too straightforward, and that it scares other people.” She leaned in conspiratorially, as she said the last part.

 

Grantaire barked out a laugh, and Cosette looked pleased at the reaction. Okay, so maybe the girl was a weirdo, but he liked her.

 

“No. Actually, I get told pretty much the same thing. On a regular basis. My best friend once tried to shove a sock in my mouth to shut me up.”

 

“Really?” Cosette smiled.

 

“Hand on my heart.”

 

“Excellent.”

 

Grantaire laughed again, “How’s perfecting your Mr. Burns impression going for you?”

 

“Quite well, actually. I would definitely dressed up as him every Halloween if it weren’t for my brother. The fifth time that I did, he snapped at me to be someone other than, as he put it, a power hungry, megalomaniacal, rapacious scrooge who spares little thought for the oppressed individuals he continuously screws over.”

 

“I take it he’s not a fan?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

 

“Definitively not,” Cosette agreed, “He does seem to have a soft spot for Lisa, surprisingly enough.” She paused before adding, “Not really, though,” she snorted, “They totally both have that same ‘save the world’ vibe about them.”

 

Grantaire chuckled, trying to picture the brother but the only face that came to mind instantly made him shake his head. No, he chastised himself, don’t even go there.

 

“By the way,” he heard Cosette say, “The lecture has ended.” A quick glance around the room confirmed it. Huh, he hadn’t even noticed. Normally, he might have been embarrassed by his total lacks of awareness but he really couldn’t find it in himself to care. Not today. He’d been too busy staving off a panic attack.

 

He watched as droves of students were attempting to clamber up the stairs. Unsuccessfully, he might add. His eyes landed on Cosette again, “I don’t understand why everyone” he started, his hands gesturing towards their classmates, “always feels the need to push at each other like that.”

 

Cosette regarded the sea of people, before nodding, “Hmm. I know what you mean. It’s not as if anything is going to move faster.”

 

“Precisely!” Grantaire beamed at her, as he swung his backpack over his shoulder, opting to keeping his notebook pressed to his chest. He started walking down the row of seats slowly, somewhat reluctant to join the mad dash to the lecture hall’s door. As he reached the end of the row, a hand touched his elbow, and Grantaire glanced back at Cosette.

 

“I was wondering---” she started but her words got cut off by the ungodly high-pitched squeak that Grantaire made as he unceremoniously smacked into someone, actually full-on walked right into someone because he’d been distracted. He hadn’t even been looking forward though he’d kept walking and fuck, he could feel the beginnings of a blush coming on.

 

Grantaire turned his face, intent on braving the potential wrath of the person. A person who was basically keeping him upright at that very moment because obviously, Grantaire had managed to smack into some poor person who was actually kind enough to stop him from falling. An apology forming on his lips, his gaze tried to focused on the person’s face but all he saw was blue.

 

Blue startled eyes framed by golden curly hair. The words died on his lips. Grantaire blanched, staring with wide eyes at the familiar features of his crush. He could feel the other boy’s hands on his shoulders, gripping them tightly. If he weren’t so embarrassed, maybe Grantaire would have enjoyed the moment, enjoyed what would most likely be the only interaction between himself and Enjolras but he didn’t because his mind was literally in panic mode.

 

Grantaire had imagined before how the first conversation with Enjolras would play out and he suddenly found himself desperately wishing that the first thing out of his mouth would be something cool, collected, maybe even intelligent but really, he had no such luck. Obviously. Why would he?

 

Instead, the first thing that came to mind was, “Great catch, Apollo.” And he’d even smirked. He fucking smirked at the guy.

 

Enjolras eyes widened, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. Shit. Right. Well, now he’d never get to talk to him again. Perfect. Fucking perfect.

 

Behind him, Cosette’s head popped out, assessing the situation. When her eyes landed on Enjolras her face lit up, “Hello, brother!”

 

The boy only nodded in response, his eyes still glued to Grantaire’s face. However, this didn’t seem to dampen her mood in the slightest, instead she waved and called out cheerfully to the guys behind him, “It’s good to see you two as well.” The shorter of the two had this really wide, creepy grin on his face that Grantaire did not like the look of. Whatsoever.

 

Grantaire froze. Had Cosette said brother?

 

If Grantaire believed in God, he would seriously be questioning what type of terrible thing he could possibly have done to deserve this kind of punishment. But as it were, Grantaire didn’t believe in God. And had no one to blame for orchestrating this particular disaster. Just dumb luck. He sucked in a quick breath, straightened himself and stepped out of Enjolras’ arms.

 

The other had still not said anything, almost seemed to have lost the ability to speak, if the way his mouth kept opening and closing was any indication. Which the creepy grin guy took as his cue to jump into the conversation.

 

“Hello!” He said, grabbing Grantaire’s hand, “My name is Courfeyrac, that one over there is Combeferre, and this gaping fish is Enjolras.” He pointed towards Enjolras. He still didn’t let go of Grantaire’s hand. His hand that was growing sweatier by the second.

 

“I know,” Grantaire replied, tentatively shaking the hand. The answer echoed in his head, and he quickly backpedaled, “I think everyone knows that though. On account of all of the um…debating.”

 

Debating was perhaps not the most accurate description of what went down in lectures when Enjolras couldn’t help himself. At best, it was a generous one, and at worst, a bald-faced lie.

 

Grantaire could tell the damage was already done. Courfeyrac’s creepy grin had somehow grown even wider. Grantaire figured this would have been an opportune moment for a hole to open up beneath his feet. With the urge to hide becoming stronger with every passing second, it only took moments before the urge won out.

 

He pulled his hand out of Courfeyrac’s still clinging grip and replied as evenly as he possibly could, “Uh, nice to meet you, I guess.” He then glanced behind him at Cosette, and said, “See you tomorrow?”

 

Cosette nodded.

 

Grantaire wished he had it in him to smile. He really did. Instead, he turned back to Enjolras, braved looking him in the eye.

 

“Right.”

 

That was all Grantaire got out before hightailing it out of the lecture hall.

 

He would just have to be brave another day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully, someone will enjoy this. If not, no hard feelings :)


End file.
